Back behind some West Jefferson farm fields is the largest indoor blast chamber in the United
States. It’s 45 feet tall and 40 feet wide, looks like a kiln and smells like the inside of a
charcoal grill. Battelle researchers have blown up stuff in there for decades.

In the same complex of buildings — called the High Energy Research Laboratory Area — researchers
shoot rifles to see exactly how many bullets bulletproof glass can take. They can place a naval
cannon at one end of a ballistic tunnel and fire it to see how much damage it does at the other
end.

“The equipment that is being made for the troops is evaluated here,” said Joe Johnston, a
Battelle technician specialist who spent eight years in the Marines.

A few doors from where he spoke were crash-test dummies outfitted in protective suits, loaded up
with heat sensors and placed near explosions to see how well those suits worked.

In the same room was an acid digestion processor, a kind of metal stomach designed to help
dissolve military bombs that have outlived their usefulness.

When Battelle receives contracts from national security agencies or the United States military
that involve studying explosives, much of the loudest work happens here, less than 20 miles from
Downtown Columbus.

The high-energy research area turns 50 next year, said manager Duncan Langlois. The 1,000-acre
campus is home to two other important parts of Battelle: the Biomedical Research Facility and the
Hazardous Materials Research Center.

But when West Jefferson residents hear detonations, they’re coming from the high-energy area.
Battelle spokeswoman Katy Delaney says she keeps a reassuring press statement on hand just in case
people get worried.

One day not long ago, some of those explosions were caused by members of the Franklin County
sheriff’s office bomb squad. They would mix some chemicals in a smaller blast chamber and step out.
Once the chamber was closed, three horns would sound to signal that something was about to
blow.

Finally, a countdown: 3, 2, 1.
Boom! A room full of Battelle employees watched on a television screen.

The first explosion, made out of the same material as exploding rifle targets, splintered a
wooden railroad tie. The second, called “Poor Man’s C-4,” and the third, “Mighty Max,” were even
more powerful. You could feel the vibrations through the floor.

For all of the “oohs” and “ahs” that the blasts elicited (at least from
The Dispatch reporter in the room), this was serious research.

The bombs were the improvised kind that bomb-squad members could see in their jobs, said Lt.
Keith Cooper, the squad commander. The squad was at Battelle to show scientists there what the
bombs could do.

“They are teaching us today ... so that we understand the risks that the government asks us to
deal with,” said Langlois, the Battelle manager. Battelle will use that knowledge in its own
research.

The bomb squad and Battelle have a years-long relationship, said Franklin County Sheriff Zach
Scott. The information that flows back and forth helps both sides.

“It’s an important partnership,” he said.

Remember that when you hear those scary explosions coming from the farm fields.